


Measure of Truthfulness

by BlueNeutrino



Series: Heart of a Witcher [6]
Category: The Witcher 2, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Heartbeats, Interrogation, like a precursor to a polygraph, torture mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 21:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14221935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/pseuds/BlueNeutrino
Summary: In the dungeons of the La Valettes, Vernon Roche has been tasked with interrogating Geralt of Rivia, and he has a technique for gauging if what he hears is the truth.





	Measure of Truthfulness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dusty_violet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dusty_violet/gifts).



> I changed up the order of the scene a little, but roll with it. Ves ought to bring you food earlier if you don’t tell Roche to get fucked.

The witcher is co-operating. So far, so good. Roche watches him eat, and even though he must be starving, Geralt shows impressive self-restraint. The ale he’d gulped down, but with the food he goes steady, doesn’t wolf down the bread and meat, despite his monicker.

He’ll talk. Whether or not the tale will be the truth is down to Roche to judge, but he’s been well trained for that.

Geralt’s left arm is resting on the table while he raises the cup with his right and drinks again. Roche doesn’t build up to it. He reaches out a hand quickly to grasp Geralt’s wrist, but he’s no match for a witcher’s reflexes. Geralt jerks his arm away, pulling it behind the table as he gives Roche a cold, questioning stare.

“Give me your hand, witcher,” Roche orders. “I’m only doing my job.”

“Depends what you want it for.”

“Not to cuff it, if that’s what worries you.”

Geralt considers a moment, then cautiously extends his arm across the table again. He doesn’t exactly trust the soldier, but if he has to form a sign, the closer Roche gets, the more he’ll regret it.

Roche reaches out and grips him firmly by the wrist, propping his elbow up on the table. Despite the hard press of his middle and forefingers on the chafed skin below Geralt’s thumb, the witcher doesn’t flinch.

“I’m taking your pulse,” Roche says in answer to the question in Geralt’s eyes. “When a man tells a lie, his heart tends to beat faster.”

“Tends to beat faster for plenty of other reasons too,” Geralt retorts. “This how you usually catch criminals? Take a man, deprive him of sleep, barely feed him, subject him to torture, then when his heartbeat becomes unsteady you call him a liar?”

“There’s no unsteadiness in your heartbeat,” Roche observes, and Geralt gives him an unpleasant smile.

“No, there isn’t.”

The head of Temeria’s special forces gives him a piercing look. “I am right in thinking, though, that this is fast for a witcher?”

“That’s beyond my control. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still bleeding. If you wanted a more reliable baseline to assess my honesty, perhaps you shouldn’t have tortured me.”

“I didn’t give the order to torture you.”

“My mistake.” Geralt glares, viper’s pupils narrowing. “You allowed it to proceed.”

“Feeling sorry for yourself?”

“No.” Geralt can’t act on the urge to cross his arms, but his wrists are sore from the hours spent in manacles and the tight grip hurts. He wants Roche to let go. He also wants to be touched elsewhere even less. “I’m just stating the facts as I understand them.” His unpleasant smile returns with even more venom.

Roche is unperturbed. “Then let’s proceed with some other facts, shall we? You were about to tell me what happened the day of the assault.”

“Why not cut to the chase? You think you can gauge my truthfulness from my heartbeat, why not just straight up ask me?”

There’s a pause. Roche looks at him, his grip tightening, and Geralt knows he’s trying to detect any changes in his pulse. Any trickery. Any threat. He’ll find nothing.

“Go on,” the witcher challenges, and Roche takes the bait.

“Did you kill Foltest?”

“No.”

Geralt’s heartbeat doesn’t falter. Roche’s, however, has quickened.

The witcher observes him from across the table, relaxes his wrist in the soldier’s grip so that Roche is forced to take the full weight of it. “You’re not sure whether to believe me, are you?” Geralt remarks. “Everyone else has already decided. But you’re not looking for a scapegoat, you actually want justice. That’s why _your_ heart’s beating faster.”

Roche’s eyes narrow, and Geralt can tell that’s thrown him.

“See, Roche, you have to keep your finger on my pulse, but I can hear yours. This is personal for you, isn’t it?”

Roche grinds his teeth. “Personal as it should be for any patriot. He was my king.”

“Then I’m sure you want to find his killer more than you want to waste your time torturing and interrogating me.”

“I do want to find his killer. That’s exactly why we’re here.” Roche’s voice is hard. “I need to know what happened, so _talk_.”

Geralt intends to. He has nothing to hide.

The witcher leans forward and glances at Roche’s hand wrapped around his arm. “That wrist’s been in shackles for three days. Mind if I have it back?”

Roche considers, then abruptly lets go. He believes Geralt will tell the truth. The technique was probably little use on a witcher, anyway.

Geralt leans back again and flexes his fingers, satisfied. “So, the morning of the assault…”


End file.
